


the world goes on

by troubadore



Series: geraskier kink bingo fills [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubadore/pseuds/troubadore
Summary: It's not often they have the time—or the coin—to spend more than a night in a town while on the Path. A night just for themselves, that is, where they don't have a contract to worry about or a hunt that needs attention.A night spent solely in each other's company.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: geraskier kink bingo fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913302
Comments: 19
Kudos: 251
Collections: Geraskier Kink Bingo





	the world goes on

**Author's Note:**

> signed up for my first kink bingo this year of our lord 2020 and i'm starting off by coming (hehe) at you with some good ol' fashioned praise kink! hope u enjoy uwu 
> 
> this fills the "praise kink" space on [geraskier kink bingo](http://twitter.com/BingoKink) card E

It's not often they have the time—or the coin—to spend more than a night in a town while on the Path. A night just for themselves, that is, where they don't have a contract to worry about or a hunt that needs attention. 

A night spent solely in each other's company. 

This is the first time in a long while they've had both the coin and the time to stay in one place for a few days in a row, Geralt muses, sitting on the bed in their rented room. His hair is still damp from his bath and he hasn't bothered to put on clothes. The bedsheets—surprisingly high quality for an out of the way inn—are cool beneath his skin. 

Across the room, Jaskier digs around in his bag for something, and Geralt traces the lines of his body with his eyes: the breadth of his shoulders, not quite as broad as his own but still strong; the endless length of his legs and the muscles corded through them from walking alongside him on the Path. 

He makes a triumphant sound and turns to Geralt with a grin, and he takes in the deep blue of his eyes in the low candlelight, the curve of his mouth, his cock nestled in dark hair between his thighs. The sight of him stirs heat low in his belly. 

Gods, but he loves this man. 

Jaskier makes his way to the bed with light steps, almost dancing, and Geralt spreads his legs as he comes to stand between them. His hands go to Jaskier's hips on instinct, gripping them; Jaskier's hands come to rest on his shoulders, whatever he'd grabbed from his bag dropped to the bed behind him. 

The smile Jaskier gives him is soft and sweet. "Hi." 

"Hi yourself," he murmurs, and he leans forward to press his lips to Jaskier's belly, the thick hair there tickling his nose. He inhales, eyes closing, and hums as his senses are filled with the warm scent of cinnamon and citrus. 

Fingers comb through his hair, massaging his scalp. Geralt feels himself start to purr, a low rumble in his chest. He noses further down, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses over warm skin. Jaskier's cock stirs next to his throat, and he tastes the musky scent of his arousal on his tongue.

Jaskier breathes out a shaky, contented sigh, fingers tightening in his hair. "Mm, as much as I like where this is going, tonight is about you, sweet wolf." 

Geralt moves his head slowly from side to side, nose dragging through the hair at the base of his cock. "Wanna make you feel good." 

"And you will," Jaskier murmurs. He pulls at his hair and Geralt lets his head be tipped up. Blue eyes dark with desire gaze down at him; it sends a pulse of want through him. "You're so good for me, sweet wolf, you'll make me feel good. I know you will." 

It sends sparks of pleasure skittering over his skin, and a shiver rolls up his spine, his eyes falling closed again. He leans forward, mouthing at the soft skin of Jaskier's belly, hands running up and down his sides in reverent motions. Jaskier lets him touch and taste, fingers petting through his hair, humming his own pleasure. 

"Lie back, sweet wolf," he says, catching Geralt's chin in his hand. He nuzzles into the touch, nosing at his wrist. "Let me let you make me feel good." 

With one last kiss to the pulse point in his wrist, Geralt does as bid and pushes himself back onto the bed. He lies back on the pillows, body stretching out, legs spread and waiting, watching his bard with hungry eyes. 

Jaskier picks up what he'd dropped on the bed earlier—a vial of slicking oil—and crawls up after him, throwing one long leg over his hips and settling on his lap. He places a hand on Geralt's chest and rolls his hips down, their cocks rubbing together, sighs drawn from both of them at the friction. 

He does it again, and again, and again until they're both hard and leaking, before reaching down with his other hand to wrap it around them, his fingers trailing through their precome and slicking it over them. 

Geralt realizes he's whining and bites his lip, but Jaskier's hand on his chest moves up to his face, cupping his chin. His thumb caresses beneath his lip. 

"Let me hear you, sweet wolf," he says, breathless. He rolls his hips again, grinding down as he twists his hand on the upstroke, and Geralt bucks beneath him. "Let that beautiful voice out." 

His voice isn't _beautiful_ —it's low and rough, harsh where Jaskier's is light and sweet. But he's helpless to resist his bard, so he lets go of his lip and pants, making an effort not to stifle himself as much. It's hard, goes against everything in him that wants to hide this exposed, vulnerable part of him, but he tries, for Jaskier. 

Always for Jaskier.

"Listen to you," Jaskier breathes, and he leans forward to press their heads together. His hips continue to roll in languid movements, and he lets go of their cocks to cradle Geralt's face between both hands. "You make the most beautiful sounds, sweet wolf. It's the sweetest music. And I would know—I'm a bard, after all. Your voice is my favorite sound to listen to. So deep and warm, wrapping around me like a cloak, keeping me safe. I'm always so safe with you, Geralt, you keep me so safe." 

It pulls more whines from him, keening noises that he presses into the skin of Jaskier's throat. His hands hold onto Jaskier's hips, pulling him down as he thrusts up, heat building low in him and climbing higher. He pants against his neck, mouthing wet kisses against it, tasting cinnamon and citrus in his sweat. His head is filled with the scent of Jaskier's arousal, his want, his desire— _for you_ , his mind whispers, _his desire for_ you—and he _burns._

"Gods, I want you so bad," Jaskier gasps against him, his mouth at Geralt's temple. His hands tangle in his hair, holding tight. "Can I have you, sweet wolf? Can I have you filling me up with your thick cock and your come?" 

"Anything you want," he pants. He rolls his hips up, meeting Jaskier's, cocks slipping together. Breathlessly, he repeats, "Wanna make you feel good." 

"Having you in me would make me feel _so good,_ " Jaskier whispers against him, and he tugs at Geralt's hair until he tilts his face up. Their lips hover a breath apart. "You always make me feel good, sweet wolf. You're _so_ good at it." 

It sings through his blood, the praise Jaskier lavishes on him. He's not sure he deserves it—too jaded, too hardened to the world—but he basks in it nonetheless, lets the words wash over him in that love-filled voice that caresses him sweetly. 

Another whine falls from his mouth and he searches for Jaskier's on instinct, nose dragging over his cheek until they slot together, trading wet, sloppy kisses as their hips continue to roll together. Geralt's hands pull him closer, fingers trailing over soft, warm skin as Jaskier licks into him and he surrenders to it. 

Jaskier kisses him like it's the only thing he wants to do, the only thing he needs, and it steals his breath away. 

Geralt absently registers Jaskier's hand searching for the vial of slicking oil, and he manages to get some on his fingers without breaking their kisses. He warms it between them for a moment before reaching behind himself, and Geralt pictures the way he teases at his hole, rubbing a finger over it before pressing in. His breath hitches, his mouth sliding from Geralt's, and Geralt massages his thighs as he sits back and begins opening himself up in earnest. 

He makes a show of it, head thrown back and biting his lip as he works his fingers in and out of his hole, the slick squelching with each movement. His other hand stays braced on Geralt, keeping his balance as his hips roll back into his hand, trying to take them deeper despite the odd, uncomfortable angle. 

Geralt's hands stay on his hips, holding him steady. He's a vision like this, dark hair wild and blue eyes dark, skin warm and glistening with sweat in the candlelight. A god of pleasure, of warmth and closeness and intimacy, glowing with his power as he prepares himself, and he's _all Geralt's._

He doesn't know what he's done to deserve someone like Jaskier, a man so full of life and joy and _love_ that it pours from his very being, his very soul, but gods, is he glad he has him. 

"Please," he finds himself saying, voice rough with his desire, his want. He pulls at Jaskier's hips, rolling his own up, cock pressing against the hand he's still working in and out of himself. It tears a moan out of his bard, long and low. "Please, Jas. Need you. Need to make you feel good." 

"Oh, sweet wolf," Jaskier sighs, finally pulling his hand from behind him. He leans over Geralt, kissing his cheek, his chin, his nose. He hovers just above his mouth. "You've been so patient, so good for me. Are you ready to make me feel good?" 

" _Yes,_ " he breathes, unable to take his eyes from the man above him. " _Yes."_

Jaskier huffs a breathless laugh, warm and rich, and he presses their mouths together, open and wet and deep, over too soon. "Alright, then. I can't keep my sweet wolf waiting anymore, can I?" 

He could—he could tease and torture Geralt all night if he wanted, tell him to lie there and not touch, to stay still, while he fucked himself on his fingers and worked a hand over his cock, bringing himself off, and Geralt would let him, would _welcome_ it, because it's Jaskier, and he wants whatever his bard wants to give him. 

But that's for another night. Tonight, Jaskier raises up on his knees, using more of the slicking oil to coat Geralt's cock with slow strokes, teasing him with a grin as he twists his wrist at the head, and then he holds it while he positions himself and begins sinking, with aching, terrible slowness, down onto him. 

Geralt throws his head back, panting at the tight clench of him around his cock. He manages to lift his head enough to watch his cock push into Jaskier, his hole stretching wide and wet around the girth, obscene and _hot._

Jaskier keens above him, hands pressed to Geralt's chest. " _Ooh, sweet wolf,_ " he croons, breathy and rough. He's finally seated fully in Geralt's lap, his body clenching around the cock in him, and he rocks his hips in small movements. "Oh, you feel so good in me. I'm so full of you, sweet wolf, you fill me so, _so_ well, so hot and _thick_ inside me. Gods, you're perfect." 

It takes everything in him, every ounce of control he possesses, to remain still under Jaskier while he sits above him, enjoying the feeling of Geralt inside him. His hands trail along his thighs, pulling at his soft skin, urging him to move, or let him move, or just _do something._

_Let me make you feel good._

"Alright, sweet wolf," Jaskier says, looking down at him with hooded, dark eyes. "Make me feel good." 

At the command, Geralt grips his hips, bracing his feet on the bed, and lifts him up, almost all the way off his cock, before slowly thrusting up as he brings him back down. Jaskier's head falls back with a moan as he repeats the motion, his body going mostly pliant and letting Geralt control him. He speeds the pace by increments, rolling his hips and thrusting up harder each time he brings him back down on his cock, until he's bouncing Jaskier in his lap and the slap of the skin mingles with their panting, gasped moans, the only sounds in the room. 

Barely coherent whining and pleading falls from Jaskier's open mouth as Geralt fucks him, breathy _Yes, yes, yes!_ s and high-pitched _Ooh, sweet wolf, there!_ s the most beautiful song he's ever heard from his bard. He smooths a hand up Jaskier's side to catch him behind the neck and pull him forward, taking his mouth and swallowing his sounds to keep for himself. 

His muscles ache in the best way as he angles for that spot inside Jaskier that makes him moan low and loud, makes him clench around his cock, his own cock twitching and dribbling precome steadily from the tip where it rubs against Geralt's belly. Jaskier gets a hand between them to wrap his fingers around himself and stroke in time with the pace he's set. 

"Oh, sweet wolf, I'm going to come," Jaskier breathes against him, and Geralt moves his face to bury it into his neck, inhaling his scent. "I'm going to come, you're going to make me come, dear heart, make me come—" 

He cries out when Geralt gives another hard thrust, pulling him down until he's buried in his body as deep as he can go and hitting that spot in him, and he shakes through the aftershocks of his orgasm, stripping his cock as hot come spurts over his fingers and onto Geralt's chest. 

The sight of him, head thrown back, long neck exposed, his cinnamon and citrus scent threaded heavily with the musk of arousal and satisfaction, makes the coiling heat in Geralt's body finally snap, and a few more thrusts later he's spilling himself into Jaskier's pliant, willing body, chest heaving and breathing heavily through his nose as the high of ecstasy fills his limbs. 

His body goes limp a moment later, and Jaskier follows him down as he slumps against the bed, mouthing sloppily against his jaw and cheek and chin until he reaches his mouth and they trade wet, open-mouthed kisses for long, endless minutes. 

Eventually, Jaskier pulls away, smiling soft and warm as he buries his nose in Geralt's neck. "Mm, you're so good to me, dear heart. You always make me feel so good." 

The warmth of pride fills his chest that he's pleased his bard, alongside a weight that feels something like contentment. Geralt wraps him in his arms, nosing his sweat-damp hair and holding him close. "You deserve it." 

"So do you," Jaskier murmurs, and Geralt shivers at the soft kiss placed above his pulse point. "You're so _good,_ dear heart. You deserve this _._ You deserve kindness and love and so much more than this world gives you. You _do._ " 

Geralt still isn't sure about that—he's done too much _bad_ to think he deserves anything _good_ —but like hell if he isn't going to take every bit of kindness and love Jaskier wants to give him. 

He doesn't argue, though. The pleasure of orgasm is still in his veins and Jaskier is a solid, warm weight on top of him, his cinnamon and citrus scent wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. Jaskier's breathing starts evening out, deepening into that of sleep, and he closes his eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart. 

For now, he lets the praise settle into his bones and allows himself to believe he deserves it. 

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/troubadorer) and [tumblr](http://geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek.tumblr.com)


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